


Echo, Reverb

by hollyhock (willowthorn)



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 16:08:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15610002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowthorn/pseuds/hollyhock
Summary: Dancing and dueling both require a strong sense of rhythm.





	Echo, Reverb

There's this old theory that anyone can learn to dance, if they figure out the concept of rhythm early enough. A motion can't just be a simple step from here to there, a means to an end - a motion is a story, a movement - a phrase. The Hitchcock twins learn early what movement means, narratively. They know that to move they need to act, and to act they need a place full of particulars - not limits on where to go, but rhythms to reaching their destination in one piece. It starts like this. Edmund and Ethan watch eachother as they run over walls and up trees. Step - one, two, three, quick. The bounce takes a full weight, and they fall. The bounce takes a partial weight, no hesitation, just up and over, and they land easy. They practice their steps, finding the fine difference between full and partial weight, where the knees should be soft and when a movement calls for the striking of a heel to give more power to the next step. They're young, and when they hold their hands together for balance, Ethan striking forward while Edmund hops back, they're asked why they're dancing. 

They learn from motion, from the subtle weight of a hand intending to push only to be pulled. They learn from the transfer of energy, electric as it slides through them before it leaves, dissipating in the slap of their palms against the walls. They learn give and take, and take again - fluid motions made to distract, weight leaning one way while the arms move another - motions overlooked easily. They learn the motions of others. How a man of a certain bearing and fortune will only walk in slow, straight lines without heed of those in his path unless they break the rhythm and move against his current. They learn that some people lead with their hips, some lead with their shoulders, and still others lead with their hands. They practice different ways of walking, different ways of talking, and at once they decide that the best people to be is themselves - not as singular units, but two halves of a whole, moving in a rhythm just their own. 

A full second can stretch on impossibly long if simply paid attention to and used to its full potential. A full second is all it takes to steal a life. A half-second is all it takes to flick his wrist and make a sloppy cut instead. A quick death takes longer. A quick death takes full motions - set up and follow through. The run up and transfer of weight. Simple arcs of motion, different results. Better results. Ethan and Edmund agree not to dwell on this. There's the rhythm of service to attend to after all. Armies like strong, synchronised rhythms as it turns out. The twins, for all their practice, find this agreeable. If the rhythms are strong enough during a march, during a drill, they can pretend it's just the two of them again, their boots echoing loudly in otherwise empty streets.

The academy is a surprise to the both of them. It had been a moment of inspiration and a good gamble. Walls of mirrors were fun to work with, and lesson plans kept them both occupied mentally. There's a demand, it turns out. Folks want their youth to be disciplined, to know how to move socially just as much as they want them to be able to protect themselves if war comes again. They switch out once in a while - the duelists learn fluidity and double steps. The dancers learn the benefits of a sudden distance and how to keep their weight exactly centered no matter their position. They wouldn't call either a particular style - it was just how they moved, after all, but their quirks become signatures and the classes they give begin to fill. 

Their rhythm is interrupted. First it's little glitches - they're found out as not one, but two. Missions that had been thrilling, a gamble of fortune and wit and skill, turn dangerous far too quickly, one after the other. Wounds do not heal as they should. They're out of sync, and then the rhythm breaks. Edmund breaks.

Ethan feels a stuttering in his chest as he tries, and fails, and tries again to get that push and pull back. A good bet, he thinks, has been the start of many things. So he brings out his coin, flicks it between his fingers as he wagers on his twin's return. It becomes a losing game. 

But he trusts his brother. He wouldn't be him if he didn't. So he waits. And waits. And then Edmund is back, but the rhythm still feels different - he's changed, and Ethan doesn't know how to get him back. 

They still practice together, little bits of give and take, hand against hand or blade against blade. Edmund yields easier, and Ethan has to pretend it's just because he's been sick. He'll get better in time. Time, after all, has its own rhythm, and there's only so long that someone can ignore that. 

So Ethan smiles, and waits for his brother to come back to being himself. Because he will come back.

Eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm upset! I'm almost done listening to Marielda and I'm very upset


End file.
